


Augen Auf

by Vanta22exual



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanta22exual/pseuds/Vanta22exual
Summary: Army doesn't know how to deal with the void threatening to swallow him anymore. He turns to the only thing that's always helped him before.
Kudos: 13





	Augen Auf

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is just me vent writing. Whenever I feel bad, Army gets hurt, that's just how it be. Mind the tags before reading.

His eyes.

He needed open his eyes.

Feeling the sun shining on his face, Army shifted, pulling the blanket over his head again to block it out. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that he had to get up, but at the same time, he physically couldn't bring himself to. He could feel the anxious voice in the back of his head, murmuring that he was going to be late, that people would question and judge and accuse him, but it all was drowned out by the loud void that was threatening to swallow him, urging him to not care. 

He'd gotten used to the void by now, it seemed ever present, always in the background, sucking away what little energy he had just to confine him to his bed on days like these. It swallowed him up, left him drained and uncaring, and he could never fight it, even if he knew it was there. Today was one of these days. He knew he had practice with the rest of the S4, as well as a stage clean up organized with the rest of Orange Team, but even as his phone went off with his alarm, all he could bring himself to do was grab it to turn it off. 

Shifting underneath the covers, he stared up at the ceiling, soon closing his eyes again as the silence of the room fell over him. He didn't want to move, but he knew he had to. It wasn't until a whole twenty minutes later that he finally dragged himself to his feet, standing next to his bed and looking around his room slowly. It was a mess. Clothes he had meant to put in the laundry were scattered everywhere. Paperwork was piling on the desk, some of it having been strewn across the floor when he opened the window yesterday, he hadn't bothered to pick any of it up yet. Cups of all shapes and sizes were starting to pile up on his nightstand, all filled to varying degrees with water or juice. Only now did he notice that he must have knocked one of them off, noting the dark stain in his carpet and the empty cup next to it. 

Not that he could be bothered to care.

Dragging himself over to his chair, he tugged off his shorts and shirt off its back, slipping into them before slowly making his way to the bathroom. He should at least tie his tentacles up and apply his facepaint, not to mention, the bags underneath his eyes were starting to darken again, not that he couldn't explain it away with pulling an all nighter for paperwork again. Its not like anyone really cared, they'd just tease him about being married to his work again. Army preferred that over them knowing about sleepless nights, tossing and turning in bed while waiting for rest that never came. He shouldn't worry others with this, its not like he couldn't take care of himself.

Stepping into the bathroom, he scowled as he looked at himself in the mirror, almost wanting to turn away. He hated the inkling staring back at him, so instead he busied himself with grabbing his hairtie, shifting his tentacles up so he could tuck them underneath his beret later before tying them loosely. As he did so, his gaze fell down to the sink, his mind drifting as his eyes unfocused and his arms fell slack to his side. Why was he even bothering? He didn't even want to leave his apartment today. Would anyone even really notice if he didn't show up?

Well, perhaps they would. They'd notice. And they'd be upset with him for not turning up without announcing it. He could practically _hear_ Aloha taunting him for it. And knowing Orange Team, it wouldn't be much different. Whining and blowing up his phone until he answered, complaining that he never bothered to turn up for the cleaning duty he himself organized. There really was no getting out of it today, unless he decided to feign illness, not that he really wanted to. 

As he finally started to snap back to himself, he found the void swallowing him again, gnawing at his thoughts and drowning out his emotions as he felt....nothing. It felt like emptiness. He despised it, it made him sick to his stomach, but he couldn't will it away. He found his claws digging into the side of the sink before he forced himself to relax, eyes once more looking up at the mirror.

...He looked even worse than before. How was that even possible? 

He could hear his phone ringing in the other room, but it was quickly drowned out as he focused on his mirror image, scowling at it. He couldn't do this today, not when he looked like such a mess. They would be able to tell right away. They would get upset, asking what was going on with him, telling him to fix it, when even he didn't know how. What if he couldn't fix it? Surely they wouldn't tolerate it forever. They would resent him, push him away, toss him out of the S4, Orange Team would find itself a new leader, one that wasn't so...broken.

Army felt a sting in his chest, knowing that what it should be is sadness, and yet, he felt nothing. Nothing but anxious panic rising in the back of his throat, and crushing apathy that refused to let him do anything about it. It was tearing him apart. He wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to let people know that he wasn't _okay_ , but any sort of noise died in the back of his throat as the same void whispered to him that it didn't matter, that nobody would care, and that he better quiet down and bear it. If only he could break out of this apathy at least, if only he could bring himself to _feel_ -

His eyes fell down to the sink again. Before he knew it, his fingers curled around a razor he always kept stashed behind the faucet. 

It always was odd, watching that vibrant hue seeping out of his own veins. It almost felt like a lie. How could someone so dull like him have something so bright inside of him? The orange ink slowly ran down his arm, collecting at his fingertips before finally dripping into the sink below, staining it with his color as the sharp pain throbbed through his body. Usually, this would be enough, the pain would break through the haze, clear up his mind, and allow him to focus. But this time, it just didn't seem to be enough. The apathy was still there, gnawing at his mind, urging him to ignore as his phone rang from the other room for the fifth time. 

How many cuts had he made? Three? Four? No, it must have been more than that. His arm was positively drenched in orange now, and so was the sink below. His vision was swimming, and he couldn't even keep the razor between his fingers still anymore. When had he started shaking? He couldn't recall. He still didn't feel enough. The pain was there, throbbing through his arm and up into his shoulder, reminding him that he _should_ be feeling, and yet...nothing. Was it still not enough? He was tired, his eyes were heavy, and for just a moment, he considered going back to bed. Instead, he settled for sitting on the counter next to the sink, his arm still over said sink so he didn't make too much of a mess. He wondered why he wasn't feeling better, why the apathy was still there. He should be feeling something, panic at being late, upset by the fact that he would be taunted and reprimanded, perhaps regret for resorting to this method yet _again_. And yet...there was nothing. All he felt was tired, so tired. Perhaps he could rest his eyes, just for a moment. Then he would clean up, and try to face the day, even if he didn't feel up for it. Just for a moment...

He closed his eyes.


End file.
